


ad infinitum (but different each time)

by sonnyside



Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: ALL THE FLUFF, Accidental Love Confessions, Anxiety, Beer, Clubbing, Crack, Dancing, Diary/Journal, Dive Bars, Domestic Fluff, F/F, First Kisses, Gaydar, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Instagram, Jealousy, Journal Entries, Kissing, Kittens, Living Together, Panic Attacks, Sick Fic, So much kissing, Social Media, Soft and gay, Soft tears, Sonnett being Sonnett, Spontaneous Decisions, U up? Texts, Useless Gays, birthday bitch kelley, c a t, in all the ways, is accidentally dating a thing, january camp, literal fluff, migraines, oh my god they were roommates, one shots, oosa OOSA OOSA, prose, soccer games, surfer Kelley
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2020-12-27 03:29:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 8,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21111929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonnyside/pseuds/sonnyside
Summary: This will be a series of stand-alone stylistically  connected one shots and drabbles about sohara getting together. Buckle up because it’s gonna be soft. And I take prompts!





	1. at a bar

**Author's Note:**

> I’m stumped about how to continue my first fic and don’t love the style, so I’m giving the people what they want - actual content I won’t abandon!

1\. At a bar. 

“Has anyone ever written you one?” 

“One what?” she asks you, around a bite of her burger; you can barely hear her over the din of the bar and you smile as you respond, 

“A sonnet, Sonnett.”

Her face goes all soft and she puts down her food, as if her hands want to pay attention to you too, but to your disappointment they don’t, they just fall into her lap. She laughs. 

“Oh my God, Kel, that was so cheesy. Are you trying to pick me up or something?” 

“Have I been that subtle up until now?”

Emily chokes a little bit on her burger this time, mid bite. Oops. Oh god. What did you just say. Oh god. Fuck. 

You’re about to backtrack and then you notice she’s regained her composure, and she’s blushing. And you love her. It’s way too soon to say it, you just blurted out you want her for gods sake, but you do. 

“Wow. Um. Wow. Not at all actually, I’ve just been an idiot,” she takes a breath, slow one, “do you want this to be a date?” 

“Hey, ass!” You grin, “you can’t ask me out! I’m the one who just made the move.” 

“I’m just asking, like, do you want it to!” 

She speaks loudly and in that carefree way that always makes you feel so alive. And throws her hands up defensively. Her palms are so smooth and pretty. You pay a lot of attention to her hands... How has she never noticed? You didn’t mean to, tonight, not at all, but you’re grateful you finally said something. 

“Yeah, I do.” You say so softly she has to read your lips probably, from the dim light that reaches the corner where you’re both seated, only a small round table between you, still. But you want to pounce on her - hug her tenderly and tight all at once - and never let her go. Stupid table. 

“It’s a date then.” She beams. 

“A date. For sure.” 

Your heart pounds.


	2. after we win

2\. after we win 

You’re not sure what came over you. 

That’s a lie. The answer is somewhere in between you’re pumped up, emotional and a little tipsy; and you’ve been brewing this crush for so long it was only going to take an unexpected shake for it to bubble over and consume you. 

Right now, it’s consuming both of you. And anyone could walk in, really, even though most are already heading to the bar where the big after party is happening, 

but that doesn’t matter. Because you just won your first World Cup, 

and you’re pressed up against a beer soaked table kissing Kelley O’Hara like you’ll die if you don’t. 

You can almost feel her freckles like brail on her bare waist as her shirt rides up, so you grab her tighter to read the moment like a psalm from the worn out prayer book you know she carries with her from hotel room to hotel room. Her goggles are still high on her head, dripping on your faces a bit. 

She tastes like sweat and Budweiser.  
You don’t think you need oxygen anymore now that you have her.


	3. in our hotel room

3\. in our hotel room

“Hey Sonnett, come here.” 

You’re siting on your own hotel bed when she calls you over, legs splayed and arms wide open, looking like she wants to wrap you up, which - as history has proven - she probably does. 

“Want some of this, Ms. Kelley?” you tease in a raspy tired voice as you get up to go to her. Her cheeks pinking up a little is the last thing you see before your back is to her front, and her arms are around you; she’s breathing in your hair and hooking her legs over your body so you can’t move even if you wanted to. 

(You absolutely don’t want to). 

“This doesn’t bother you, does it?” she mumbles against your neck. 

“Mmm no,” you sigh happily, leaning back further, “I’ll take what I can get.” 

Your heart rate stutters as you realize the implications of what you maybe just half admitted. You wonder why after several hotel cuddle sessions - as friends do, right? - over many many months, maybe almost a year, she’s finally asking this question. 

Kelley is quiet for a moment, but then her nose is nuzzling the nape of your neck and she’s giggling. 

“What? What!?” You ask. Shy, laughing back because you can’t help it, but still defensive. 

She stops giggling abruptly and runs her hand up and down one of your arms, elbow crook to shoulder, back and forth, experimentally. Maybe to soothe you. You shiver. 

“Peach, did you think this was all you could get from me?” 

You gasp in from the adoring in her voice. She continues, 

“If it’s you... I’m up for pretty much anything.” 

You turn in her arms and you breath back out as one word, 

“Oh my god then date me”. 

“Alright.”

You’re both back to laughing, softly


	4. on your birthday

4\. on your birthday 

“It’s my birthday.”  
You say proudly, definitely a little drunk as you walk up to her alone at the snacks table in the crowded backyard. Her parents’ yard, actually—she offered it up because the team was going to be in Georgia, and you wanted someplace private to celebrate with them 

(you don’t know for sure, but you think she’d do almost anything for you). 

Right now Ashlyn and Pinoe are rounding up all the “kids” to break a piñata Tobin is struggling to tie to a tree, one foot off the stool and one foot on as Christen watches her nervously from an unsubtle distance, beneath the porch light. Adorable. 

And Julie and Crystal are holding two shots each in a big treehouse, their heads and arms hanging out the wooden window, cheering the scene on. 

You picture Emily and her sister having sleepovers in the treehouse for a moment, grinning dopily. Then you remember you walked up to the girl in question because you wanted attention, from her and her only. Emily drapes her arm over your shoulders to say hello. Like she does often. And it always makes you feel warm. 

“Hey, birthday girl.” She says, voice beer-rough and previous-rap-battle-with-Sam worn. 

She leans in more to kiss you on the cheek as she tries to tipsily guide you both to sit beneath a nearby tree, but you turn to look at her and her lips brush the corner of your own. 

Like buckshot, abrupt and hot, you stumble together to lean against the thick oak trunk, fall into each other’s laps, and kiss sloppily until everyone inevitably starts calling for you both. 

Inelegant. Perfect. 

Home.


	5. over text

5\. Over text 

It is 12:30 am in Georgia when your phone vibrates on your nightstand. 

Emily: You up? ;)

Your eyebrow raises. Until, a second later- 

Emily: Holy fuckballs. Wrong number. 

Buzz. 

Emily: Haha 

Buzz. 

Emily: Kill me. 

And suddenly you’re laughing, almost hysterically. Typing back without thought to how it might sound, 

You: Wait it was just getting good. Don’t stop now. 

You bite your lip and add after an endless moment, 

You: I am indeed ‘up’, by the way ;). 

Emily: stop it. 

There’s a long minute in between. 

Emily: So, you caught me. There’s this girl in Atlanta

Emily: fjdjdj oh my god. You know I’m gay right? 

Oh. You aren’t laughing anymore; having your wildest dreams confirmed on a random bye week mid season was the last thing you expected. Your stomach goes all giddy and you forget to answer her. You feel the anxiety in her next text. 

Emily: well. Yeah. I am. 

You don’t know what possesses you, but you respond back, 

You: I didn’t know, really. But I always hoped. 

Emily:... hoped? 

You: yeah, hoped...:)

Emily: fuck. wow. you mean - 

Yep. That’s exactly what you mean. And maybe your worried lip might start bleeding if you don’t give it a rest from between your teeth. But it’s now or never. 

You: so. I’m probably a little closer to you right now than Atlanta girl... 

*Emily is typing* the dots communicate. 

*Emily is typing*

And the dots disappear. Your heart sinks. Then flies through the ceiling once more when you finally read, 

Emily: Jeez. Wow. How about I take you out to dinner first.... 

Emily: No for real though. tomorrow? 

You: I would love to, Koala-bear. 

(Your ridiculous names for her know no bounds, even when you’re smiling so hard you can barely think). 

You nuzzle happily into your nightshirt, blushing bright and peach tree pink. 

You: it’s a date.


	6. surfing

6\. surfing 

You were just trying to teach her how to surf. 

Fuck. 

You were teaching her how to surf, like you promised you would! That’s all. And she said she was ready to try out a wave on her own. When a big, perfect swell rose up in the water, you saw her stand up at the same time you did on your own board and you were so damn proud. That’s your girl. Well-  
You wished she was. 

But now you’re on the shore, and you see her board but you don’t see her. It’s only been a few seconds but you don’t 

see. 

her. 

Just the board floating. 

FUCK. 

You dart forward and dive deep in an instant, swimming out under the waves and reaching blindly under the neon board until you at last find her hand, and then her armpit, and then you’re hauling her up roughly from under the foam. 

“Owwwwww letgo.” She half moans, half coughs through bubbly, wet lips. You’ve sat her down on your leg in the shallows and you’re wrapping her up in your arms and you’re holding her close, salty tears blending with sea brine on your freckled face. 

“You idiot,” you scold rapidly, mouth partly against her shoulder as you talk, “you scared me. I didn’t even get to say I love you, the way I do, you idiot. And I thought - I thought - !” 

“I was only under for a minute, I got turned around, the wave crashed and made me dizzy and I just - wait, wha?” 

You said that out loud. Haha. Of course.  
To be fair, though, in your defense, you did think she was dead. And yet hilariously, horrendously, you still try to backtrack. 

“I mean I uh - I love that you’re not dead and,” you stand up so that she’s forced to stand too, knee deep. 

She’s ok, and now you feel like you’ve gotta get your distance - get away from this uncomfortable, embarrassed, red hot feeling in your chest. 

“I love-“ 

You don’t notice that she’s smiling tenderly at you. 

“Like, I so. I really love - “

You can’t think of anything else that you love right now but her. 

“I love -“ 

She puts you out of your misery.

“Kelley, Kels. I love you that way too.” And then she’s launching herself onto you once more, nearly toppling you both back into the water. You’ve gotta get back onto dry land, Jesus. Oh. Did she just say— .

Wow. You breathe in the seaweed and citrus smell of her damp goldenrod hair, your pulse hammering. 

Then Emily kisses you on your nose, unwraps her legs from around your waist, and grabs your hand to pull you toward the safe sand at last. 

“Ice cream,” she says, like the answer to a question you didn’t ask. 

“Hmmhmm?” is all you can manage to garble out as you walk, distracted by the feel of her fingers laced with yours. 

“Boardwalk ice cream is a total first date food. Damn, I’m girlfriend material.” 

She’s a cocky asshole and you’re so into her that it hurts. 

God. And the way you’re grinning, even after the biggest scare of your life just minutes before, it lights a fire in you, with little warning,  
and burns.


	7. when you’re sick

7\. When you’re sick

You went to bed early after evening practice feeling kinda crappy. 

You wake up feeling more pain than you think you’ve ever felt in your life. You open your eyes, and the light streaming in the hotel room from a crack in the blinds is enough to make your stomach churn as the stabbing in your skull blinds you. 

“Hhhhn Kel. KEL.” You groan, hoping to wake the woman in the bed next to yours so she can make the sun stop. 

“Son?” You hear after a moment. When you don’t answer she gets louder, a little more concerned, “Sonny?” 

The covers are now over your head and you refuse to move them. Everything is too loud. Even her wonderful, wonderful voice. Fuck. 

“Head. Head hurts.” You say. Suddenly you’re being re-exposed to the room by her pulling the blankets, hovering over you, and you’re embarrassed, but you can’t help it, you start to cry. 

“Fuck” you whine, high and desperate, grabbing your head with both hands and trying to sink into the pillows. “Kelley,” you’re scared, you’ve gotten headaches, but never like this. A halo of light that seems downright unnatural blocks part of the defenders face as you turn a bit to squint up at her, “what - what’s wrong with me. Hurts.” 

“Sweetie,” she says, softer now, getting into bed with you, which should seem wild, unexpected, but you barely notice until her arms are gently pulling yours away from where you’re clutching at your hair, pulling too hard to try and feel anything but the pounding, the grinding deep hurt behind your eyes,

“have you ever had a migraine?” 

“Mm. N- no. But my mom - she gets them all the time,” you reply carefully, trying not to disturb yourself with your own voice. 

Kelley sits up, leaning against the backboard of your bed, and she pulls your head into your lap, stroking your forehead softly. It’s a little distracting. It feels ticklish. It’s nice. 

“I think you’ve got a nasty migraine, baby.” 

“Mm. Like that,” you sigh, half aware, half dazed. 

“Me brushing your head like this? It’s helping?” She asks you, tenderly. A little shyly. 

“Yeah,” you reply, “an’ you calling me baby.” You whimper as a wave of nausea rolls through you, but thankfully passes. 

“That’s a piece of info I’ll definitely store for later.” She says, a smile in her voice. Not-sick you would wonder if she was blushing. After a few minutes where you start to get your bearings back, still feeling shit but no longer scared with Kelley keeping you grounded, she speaks again and begins to shift, 

“You’re gonna be ok Em. Don’t move. I’m gonna set your head down and get you a cold washcloth. I’ll be right back.” 

She carefully gets up, and even through the fog you miss her. 

When she gets back, she places the amazing soothing cloth on your head, and you hate to admit it but you’re terrified she’s going to leave you, and you say as much to her, even as she’s getting back underneath your sheets to lie beside you, nuzzling her face into your shoulder. 

“I’m not gonna leave you.” She assures. 

Eventually, you both fall back asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the prompt @takingthelongway !


	8. when it’s too late

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congrats to KO for being as gorgeous, gay and happily in love as she is. Wtf.

8\. when it’s too late 

At this point, it physically pains you to go on social media. 

Mostly you’re just embarrassed. Embarrassed that it hurts so bad to see her happy. Embarrassed you’re like a little kid with this soul destroying crush on one of your former idols turned one of your best friends. 

Sometimes you find yourself composing messages you’ll never send. 

‘Looking hot, babe!’

Ridiculous and presumptuous. Her girlfriend doesn’t need to see that, besides. 

‘Hottie with the boddie’

Honestly, you could probably get away with this one. 

...

‘I should’ve told you sooner.’

Haha as if you’d ever.  
Way too angsty and on the nose. 

‘I miss you, Kel.’

This one actually gets typed on Instagram. You backspace quickly before you accidentally hit something you don’t mean to press. You think you’ll text her instead. 

Tomorrow, maybe. When this cruel jealously leaves your head.


	9. jealousy (part one)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone asked for jealousy, and I couldn’t just do it from one perspective, so this is a two parter. Enjoy!

9\. jealousy - kelley

“Oh hey, kid’s got game huh?”  
Alex says loudly in your ear over the music. You’re both leaning against the bar sipping on lite beers, honestly taking it slow because you have a feeling you’re going to have to drive the younger players all home tonight. Your fist clenches at her comment so hard that you worry you may shatter the longneck bottle. 

Sure, Rose and Sam are grinding on each other on the dance floor as Lindsey chucks a few crumpled dollar bills on them repeatedly, and it’s hilarious, especially because no fewer than five strangers are filming them. 

And yeah, Instagram is going to be a mess tomorrow. 

But you don’t care about all that, because all you really notice is what’s going on behind them. 

Emily Sonnett, dancing way too slow and sensual to the music with a hot girl clinging to her, whispering something in her ear that makes her let out her signature throaty chuckle - not that you can hear it over the vibrating club bass - but you see the way her mouth opens and her face changes into a smirk, and you can feel it anyway, like a jolt straight through your core. 

You aren’t quite sure when she started affecting you this way. You aren’t too sure you like it. You’re only a violent person on the field, but right now you want to storm across the hardwood, push that chick to the side; pull Sonnett to you and - what? Mark your territory? Maybe pull her face to yours with both hands and lay a bruising kiss on her lips, your tongue - 

“Kel. KEL.” 

Alex blessedly snaps you out of it. Your face is hot and your beer no longer has a label on it. Your fingers are twitching, wanting. 

“Ok, I’m gonna leave the fact you never answered me at all for later, because I can see you’re like, going through something here.” She smirks at you, taking your beer out of your hands and finishing it in one long pull. You aren’t mad, you’ve forgotten to drink it for the past — however long your favorite blonde has been getting busy right in front of you. 

“Fuck off,” you say without much malice, and then you figure, oh, maybe it’d be good to say it out loud to someone, “I think I have a thing for Sonnett.” 

“No shit.” Alex deadpans, hip checking you, “what are you gonna do about it?” 

“Um. Something,” you reply distractedly, watching as Emily leaves the girl wanting to go scope out a new dance partner, popping and grinding goofily... hotly... goofily-hotly, to Chance the Rapper blasting from the speakers. 

And then you’re moving forward, fixing your hair and pulling at your top to make sure it’s sitting right. A decided *something* behind each step as you get closer to the sea of people, leaving Alex behind. 

“Something” you repeat to yourself fiercely, a fire in your eyes, and it sounds a bit more like “fuck me” with the whole lot of bite.


	10. jealousy (part two)

Your body is pulsing to the loud song, your hips are moving to the bass, your arms are raised, really you’re just having a good time. Not aware of yourself at all, living from song to song

(and you’re pretty drunk, so, hopping from girl to girl) 

until you see her coming toward you. 

Kelley O Hara - in that damn tight shirt, cute jean jacket, and all her fucking freckles constantly attached to her beautiful face -  
walking towards you with a swing in her step. Walking toward you with *purpose* 

Oh my god oh my god oh my god. You must be dreaming. There’s no way you’re awake. You’d pinch yourself if you weren’t sure it’d make you look insane. 

Right. Focus. Your heart speeds up and you try your best to keep dancing, act natural Sonnett! - though you’re sure you’ve failed at it when she’s right up in your space, grabbing your hips and spinning you around so you’re now swaying back to front, the two of you probably looking like the hottest couple in this place. 

You swear you can feel the curvature of her bra, that’s how close she’s got you up against her. Your ass is pressing into her crotch, god, and shes so warm everywhere, the heat radiates, slips past your waist the way her hand is slipping under the hem of your top, and it nails you below the belt. You’re pulsing in a decidedly specific place now. Fuck. 

The arousal hits like a bucket of ice water, and you jolt away and turn to look at her. 

It’s too loud to talk normally, and you don’t want to shout, so you’re floundering silently, breathing heavily, staring into her eyes that seem to be filled with lust, or is it just the flashing strobe lights? You miss her touch. 

As if psychic, then, she takes your hand and pulls you into her. You follow willingly. Her lips brush the shell of your ear, and she’s almost-growling,  
“I got jealous.” 

And oh, OH. You chuckle throatily, turn around again and push back with your ass. You lean your head so your hair tickles her neck. Lost in the music again.  
Because this? Is a tune you can dance to.

(You think feel her shiver).


	11. Interlude: the sonnet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The sonnet from chapter one, written by Kelley two years later.

11\. interlude: the sonnet 

Can I write something worthy of your smile?  
Truth be told I’m not even an artist,  
but I really shot for the stars by a mile  
when I asked if anyone had wrote you a sonnet.

With you I’ll always be truthful and gay,  
in the joyful sense, come on, grow up;  
I never thought I would ask you this way  
but I figured it’s about time I nut or shut up. 

Emily, shall I compare thee to a soccer ball?  
You inspire my passions, my livelihood,  
And though you aren’t round at all,  
With me you sure can ‘score’ real good. 

I’d like to meet all my goals with you in this life,  
so please let me make you my pretty blonde wife.


	12. when you forget

12\. when you forget

you fucked up.  
you royally fucked up, alright? if there was some way to remind yourself to set a reminder on your phone, like a remembrall app or something, you wouldn’t be here right now. Wishing you had your emergency meds.

You wouldn’t be curled around yourself in the corner of the room, hugging your knees and shivering in just your training shorts and sports bra.

Praying that Kelley doesn’t come back to the room and somehow also hoping that she does- no, you moron, fuck.

You’re so dizzy, and weak, and stupid. No one should have to be around you like this. You hate, HATE panic attacks.

You try counting things, or noticing things like your therapist taught you - but the walls are white, the bedding is white, and the same-ness of everything in the impersonal hotel room starts to make you feel claustrophobic.

The door slams open and you jump in fear, in embarrassment, and then you’re standing. Arms crossed around your chest, breathing shallowly.

Kelley hasn’t noticed you yet. Maybe she won’t. Not as if you’re worth the attention right now. You forgot your stupid medication. The stupid pills. You forgot your medication. You fucking forgot-

“Em?” there’s a hand on your forearm, you jolt away, eyes clenching shut, before apologizing profusely, trying not to cry, rambling that she should just leave you alone, that you’re stupid, you don’t deserve her, you forgot, you’re sorry,

you’re so sorry.

“Are you having an anxiety or - or, uh, maybe a panic attack?” she asks you softly. You nod once, jerkily, before sinking back to the floor.

She slides down with you, not touching you, her voice is like a balm to a wound,

“open your eyes for me, babygirl.”

And after a moment you listen, seeing her concerned eyes, as she sits cross legged in front of you, biting her lower lip with thought - or worry- or maybe with annoyance, oh god -

“No, no,” she urges as she sees your eyes get watery and wild, “come back to me, peach. It’s ok. You’re safe.”

“Safe,” you reply quietly, willing your heart to calm down, your thoughts to stop trying to kill you.

“Tell me what you see,” she says, reaching her hand slowly for yours, asking permission with a meaningful glance. You reach forward too and grab onto it like a lifeline.

“Your hair,” you say shakily, a watery chuckle leaking out, “it’s a mess”.

“Thank you,” she says, shaking her head with a small laugh, “what else?”

“Your freckles, like, on your nose, you have so many of them, it’s crazy,”

You pause. You scrunch your face in thought, trying so hard to focus for her, for yourself,

“I see your eyes,” you say, and then in an almost whisper, “they’re nice.”

“And I see, um, I see-“ she’s rubbing her thumb across the back of your hand patiently and just watching you, waiting, and it makes the balloon of fear in your chest that was swelling more and more with each passing moment before she got to you begin to deflate a little - “I see your hand holding mine, it’s tanner than mine and it’s soft.”

You look away and down at your lap. You feel ok now, but shy, like a little kid, and embarrassed again. You don’t wanna look anymore.

“Can I hug you?” She asks after a quiet moment, over the sound of your slowly calming breaths.

Without looking up at her you nod, and she’s climbing over your one outstretched leg to sit beside you against the bed, wrapping her arms around you and pulling you gently into her, stroking your head.

“I get panic attacks, like that, um- at least once a month I guess. More during tournaments and stuff like that. They started when I was a kid.”

“I’ve seen it happen to other teammates before, it’s nothing to be ashamed about,” she encourages you kindly.

“I know, now. But I always feel so worthless when they’re happening.” You laugh bitterly. “Ironically this one happened when i realized I forgot my emergency anti-anxiety pills at home. I felt so stupid. And then just started - spiraling. I guess.”

Your bury your face deep into her shirt. She lets you. You’re almost falling asleep on her for what feels like awhile but you come back to awareness from the mischievous sound of her asking,

“So you think I’m pretty, huh?”

“Pshhh, what?” You roll your eyes, play-shoving yourself away from her, but not so hard as to completely detach her hold on you, which you’re sure she notices.

“You think I’m gooooorgeous, my eyes are so niiiiice, you want to kiiiiiiiiss me,” she sings, channeling Miss Congeniality, because of course, why wouldn’t she. Your face is now fire-red and with it comes the burning.

“somewhere, Sandra Bullock is suddenly crying and she doesn’t know why,” you say in retaliation, mock sagely, failing to hide your smile.

She lets go of you and you feel a little lost.  
Until she puts her hand on yours again and looks at you so earnestly, shyer than you’ve ever knew she could be, murmuring ,

“I think you’re really pretty, too. And brave. And I uh - I kind of really like you. If that’s ok.”

For the moment your worries are forgotten. Because it’s more than ok and you want to show her as much.

As soft as morning sunbeams, you kiss her.


	13. in Atlanta

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so someone requested this scenario awhile back! A bit more character involvement and dialogue than usual. Hope you like it!

13\. in Atlanta 

You’re in Kelley’s living room when it happens. 

Honestly, you knew you should have gone back to Marietta for this. Intruding on the OG best friends’ weekend even for a second was just bad juju. But Kelley insisted you come have lunch with them before going to see mom and dad and Emma.

And now, well, here it is. You stare wide eyed as Alex Morgan stalks up to you holding up one of your away Thorns jerseys. 

“Sonnett, I want you to think very carefully-“ 

You gulp, yelping out an affirmative “mmhmm!” And backing up against the couch. You have no idea where this is going. But gosh, you respect the hell out of her. And wow, she’s intimidating. And scarily attractive, too. You stare, waiting. 

“Why do you have a full drawer at Kelley’s place?” 

Oh, is that all? You laugh, “Alex, I’ve been hanging out here a lot since the beginning of off season. Kel and I have been chilling, training...” 

Alex quirks an eyebrow, somehow curious and unimpressed at the same time. 

“All of this time? Are you two, like, dating?”

Kelley walks out of the bathroom. Just in time to see the color drain out of your face as you stop smiling, stuttering - 

“What? No- we just -“ 

Have been spending every waking moment together? 

Making each other breakfast? 

Sleeping in her bed because it’s ‘cozy’? 

Doing taco and beer Tuesdays for the last... how many weeks has it been? And are your plants even alive back in - fuck - Portland? 

Kelley and Alex are staring at you. Alex is waiting for an answer. Kelley looks like she’s- blushing? And overly interested in your answer. Smirking. Smirking??! 

“Um,” you choke out, “holy shit, Kelley, are we in a relationship?” Un freaking believable. And you aren’t even getting sex out of it, you joke inwardly - but your mental processes grind to a halt at the thought of *that* with Kelley... and you can’t believe it’s only now that you realize you’re into it. Like, really into it. And into her. Big time. 

Kelley balks, “are you really asking that now? In front of Alex??” 

“Would that change the answer?” You retort, uncertain, bumbling. What is your life? You go up on your tip toes and sit on the back of the couch. And now Alex fucking Morgan is holding in hysterical laughter at your expense. fantastic. 

“No.” Kelley says quickly, and she’s walking over to you, and then sitting next to you on the back of the couch, is there such thing as a maybe-dating breakup??? 

“Oh haha just kidding. I mean - haha, right, what a joke” you backpedal, embarrassed for taking Morgan’s teasing this seriously. 

“Peach,” she interrupts you spiraling with your favorite nickname. “I mean no, it wouldn’t change my answer. Now that Alex mentions it I kind of feel like we are - have been together - for over a month by now. You share my bed for god sakes - “ 

“SHE WHAT,” Alex jumps in with a screech. You startle and hide your face in Kelley’s shoulder. Not your finest moment. Until she giggles and wraps her arm around you protectively. And then suddenly it is the finest moment of all. Ew, so cheesy. Have you been like this for a month? Gross.

Alex’s exasperated sigh can be heard from space, you’d bet it in an instant.

“The two of you are idiots. I’m going for a walk so you can kiss, have sex? Whichever. Do NOT tell me.” 

And then she leaves the apartment. And you and Kelley will have to save kissing for later because right now you’re too busy laughing. Which gets her started too. Until you’ve both fallen backwards into the proper couch cushions, clutching each other hysterically. 

“Did,” you gasp out, “did I really move in with you like accidentally?” 

“I gave you a fucking DRAWER, dingus!” She wheezes back at you. 

“We have SIDES of the bed!” you half yell into the side of her face. 

And Kelley is wiping your slobber off her cheek, her eyes shining brightly.

It takes you both a few minutes to calm down. You stay sprawled out on top of her, though, and it’s in this quiet moment of breath catching you realize you’ve never felt so at home as you do in Atlanta with Kelley. You look into her eyes, your face hovering above her, close enough to feel the warmth of her breath, to count every freckle should you choose to. She blushes again, so pretty. 

“Should I like - leave so we can do this properly?” You mean move out of course. Who lives together before they realize they’re dating??? These two assholes!!!, apparently. You’re perfect for each other, really.

“Nah, stay,” she replies nonchalantly, betraying her sincerity by the way she reaches up to brush your hair out of your eyes, smiling up at you adoringly, 

“all of your favorite shampoo and skin care is in the bathroom already anyway.”


	14. Interlude ii: Emily’s Anxiety Journal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little exercise based off the Sonny has a panic disorder chapter. I may continue that in some chapters because I relate so hard.

So,   
my therapist told me I should keep a journal about feelings I have

Something about how especially if they’re bad feelings, or ones I think I can’t control, writing them down will help me feel more in control of them.

I know she probably meant this more for anxiety and my panic attacks. But this is a good place to start. It can be part of my anxieties sometimes too, after all. 

I’m afraid I’m going to be caught. So. Writing this down might be the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. 

I have feelings for a woman on my team. A teammate. Can you believe it?

Are you listening, dumb fucking diary?   
Because this is a bad emotion. And I hate it so much. 

I hate how my stomach flutters every time she texts me. We’re best bros. She texts me a lot. I seriously might develop a condition from this. She’s driving me crazy. My guts are in KNOTS. 

Sometimes she teases me, and it feels like flirting, and I feel made fun of. Or, I become convinced she might like me back. 

I don’t know which is worse. Being found out, and getting rejection over with, or living this way forever - until she gets a girlfriend, gets serious with the lucky chick, gets married, and my heart bursts. 

My therapist told me to write anything that was bothering me, right? This is an emotional dumping ground. And I’m pouring it out right now. 

I hate loving Kelley O Hara.   
I hate loving her so fucking much


	15. instagram (part one?)

15\. instagram 

You wonder if it would be reasonable to fly to Hawaii, just to throw your phone into a volcano.

You fucked up. You fucked up and you find yourself calling Tobin Heath, of all people, because she’s super chill about social media stuff, and maybe she’ll be able to calm you down??? 

Probably not. Because you just liked a picture of Emily Sonnett in a bikini on Instagram— from 87 weeks ago. 

Oh my god. Oh my god. 

“Hey, Kelley” Tobin picks up on the third ring, friendly but curious, “what’s up?” 

“I absolutely full stop need you to talk me off the ledge right now” you reply, dramatic, yes, but oh so sincere, “I big, big messed up. Like. Big time, dude.”

“Uh huh. Do tell.” Why does this asshole sound like she’s smiling??? This is serious!!! You’ve been caught stalking your smokeshow crush slash friend slash teammate!!! And after over a year of trying to keep your attraction quiet, no less. !!! Ahh!!! 

Anyway, where were you? Oh, right: 

“I liked a picture of Sonny on her Instagram.” 

“Well that’s what Instagram is for...” she responds. And normally you’d admit she was wholly correct, but:

“It was from 87 weeks ago.” 

Your body retracts in on itself in preparation for her response. It never comes. At least, not much of one. 

There’s just this thirty second long pregnant pause. Until... 

“Oh. It could be worse? Aha.” 

Yes. She actual says “aha”. You hate her. You hate her so much.

Finally, laying your cards out, you shout-whisper, irritated by her lack of panic, even enough that’s what you wanted from her all along, this hard chill fuckin surf bro calm: 

“IT WAS A PICTURE OF HER ABS TOBIN. IM GONNA BE CAUGHT THIRSTING. ME. CAUGHT.”

Now Heath is actually laughing. You can hear even though she’s holding the phone away from her mouth. Wait, is she calling for Christen? oh my Jesus, holy God. 

“Chris! Chris babe, take the phone. Kelley needs your advice.” 

Your head hits the kitchen table with a soft thud. RIP your cool factor. RIP your entire soul. 

“Uh. Hey. Kels? What’s wrong?” 

It takes everything within you to not hang up.

Kill me now. Help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a silly one that just wouldn’t leave my head. Leave me comments if you want Emily’s side of the story/a resolution! Love y’all


	16. instagram (part two)

You click to see which picture Kelley liked as you’re wrapping a towel around yourself, and immediately fumble your phone into the puddle of water at your feet. 

— after it spends an hour in a rice bath - haha, get it. Like “ice bath”, you’re losing your mind, and have been pacing back and forth waiting for it to dry — 

you get dressed, in sweatpants and the Stanford hoodie Kelley left at your place one time, shut up about it — and you call Tobin.

Because she’s the only one you can think of who knows Kelley well, and for a long time, and also isn’t a gossip queen. Jesus bless her. Lord god.

She pics up on the first ring, like she was expecting you or something. Get a life, man. Come on. 

“Sonny?”

“TOBINO. I need your advice dude. Kelley, she, I mean - “ 

“You’re both idiots.” She cuts in. And hangs up. 

What the *fuck*???

You check Instagram again and yep. You didn’t imagine the whole thing. The momentous EVENT. Kelley o Hara liked a thirst trap style pic of your abs from over a year ago. Okay. Everything is fine. You think she’s the hottest thing on earth and it’s probably just some glitch and still, still you wanna leap through the app, grab her and kiss her senseless, but everything. Is. FINE. 

You text Christen, because you know she’s with Tobin. 

All you get in response is, 

“Maybe what you think is a Kelley problem is actually a Kelley solution.” 

Which you immediately want to roast her for, because, no way is that how real people talk. 

But then. It starts to make sense. 

Kelley must have called Tobin freaking out too. Which means she did like that photo. And she did it by accident. 

Which means she’s not as good at instastalking as you are - you have her entire page memorized. Have obsessed over which girls in the older photos look like ex girlfriends. 

Which means — 

Oh fuck yeah. 

You sit down on your couch with a dramatic fwoosh, legs spread haphazardly, leaning determinedly and with epic focus over the miraculously-not-broken phone in your hands as you systematically go through Kelley’s page, liking every single picture. 

Starting with the first. 

August 2011, bitch. 

Game on.


	17. instagram (part three)

After going for a run, you work up the nerve to turn your phone back on. 

No texts from Emily. Is that a good sign, or a bad sign? 

Your finger hovers over Instagram. You put your phone back down on the counter and make yourself a smoothie instead of clicking on it, but the whole time you’re thinking about how she calls your favorite smoothie “the miss kelley special” and you’re across your kitchen again without even realizing it. 

Clicking, and refreshing, and that’s a lot of notifications... oh god. Oh my god. You’re giggling even though you’re also freaking out. 

The psycho bitch liked every single one of your photos. Like, EVER. Way back to 2011. 

You’re immediately opening your messages, heart beating fast in way where you aren’t sure what kind of anxiety this is or if you like it. 

kelley: are you making fun of me, or was this a clever way to get me to slide into your dms, peach 

em: def not mocking. welcome to my dms. 

em: you could’ve just asked for a pic of my abs you know 

You inhale sharply and start coughing because of it, doubling over with your elbows on the counter, and your phone goes clattering to the floor. Shit. Play it *cool* O’ Hara! Smooth and cool. So smooth and cool. Not. Fuck. 

Once you have the phone back in your hands, you bite your lip, squint your eyes in thought, and then open up your contacts list and call her before you can chicken out. 

“Kel?” You’re pleased when she’s the one who sounds knocked off balance now. She’s definitely all perked up and blushing, unsure on the other side of the phone. You find it very attractive. It’s not every day Emily Sonnett shows she’s shy... you may be one of the few who know she’s capable of it. 

You want her. Obviously. That’s why you were drooling over photos of her from last year. 

But you also like her. the “warm and fuzzy inside” type of like. Yeah, that kind. 

“I didn’t have anything planned to say when I called” you admit despite yourself, so much for cool, huh, but she always manages to get the truth out of you,

“the idea of you sending me pictures of your abs, just for me, made me drop my phone and I wanted it to be your turn to be flustered.”

She laughs in a way that tells you that your plan worked for sure. And that she’s loving it. 

You smile softly.

So are you.


	18. spontaneity

“made the best spontaneous mistake and need you to come over and spiral. Nowish. Thx.” 

Read the text from Emily Sonnett, 2:14 pm. 

You’re at your apartment in Atlanta, she’s... probably at her own temporary apartment a half hour drive away on the other side of the city. 

She decided she wanted to spend the off season closer to home, but also not in her family’s lap, and not gonna lie, you also think you factored a little bit into the equation. And it isn’t your ego talking. The two of you end up spending at least three days a week together, after all. Doing take out and a movie, or training at a local field, even grocery shopping together a few times, just ‘cause. 

You finish the last few bites of your grain bowl and with a fond roll of your eyes as you look at the text one more time you pick up your keys from the counter and you head over without even replying to her. 

Spontaneity see, spontaneity do, right?  
What are you even talking about. Come on O’Hara, focus! 

45 minutes later (you stopped to get iced coffee for you both) you’re hip checking her door a few times in lieu of knocking. 

Emily opens the door after a long moment and what sounds like a mad scramble over half of her furniture. 

She’s holding a small, white, extremely fluffy kitten under one arm... basically like a football. What the fuck?? Awwww. No, not aw. you definitely mean, What the fucK!!? 

You open your mouth and she shushes you instantly, literally putting a finger to your lips with her free hand, as she rushes out “before you even say anything!!! Emma says she’ll watch her while we’re on the road. And I checked. My Portland apartment allows pets. And I just couldn’t say no to her stupid face! And 

And -“  
You have no idea if she’s noticed that you’ve put down the coffee tray safely behind you, that you’ve come fully into the apartment now, closing the door with your foot. You’re staring down at the cat and at her arm muscles, at her pleading eyes and the rising blush on her cheeks, alternating from looking up and down— 

Yep. Completely overwhelmed. You aren’t sure if you’re cooing at Sonny or the little baby marshmallow nuzzling her pretty, soft hand but the sounds coming out of you are embarrassing, you’re sure of it. But you don’t care. Wait - was she still talking? 

“-and I know I should have thought it through more and I’m getting kind of stressed because I only remembered litter and food and a few toys but I’m sure I need more BUT here” 

she thrusts the adorable creature into your arms proudly, her eyes tearing up a bit, 

“This is Oosa.” 

Oosa looks up at you and meows curiously. Kneading her tiny little paws into your sweatshirt. 

Oh my god. You start to tear up too. You’re standing in your teammate’s doorway with her accidental kitten in your arms, looking at her like she’s the light of the world as she watches you back, clearly hoping you like her amazingly cute dumb decision, and there’s only one, incredibly stupid, reckless thing you want to say. 

So you do. 

“I’m in love with you, you stupid idiot.” 

You’re making solid eye contact with her, you can’t even play it off that you’re talking to the little muffin in your arms. Who wants to be let down suddenly, so you crouch down to free her; you watch her wander off for a moment and then you stand up and Emily is right there, in your bubble, breathing your air, hot and close. One slender, strong finger tilts your chin up to make you look at her. And then she’s kissing you like you’re made of glass. Fragile. Warm. Soft. 

“Well then, I should have got a kitten sooner.” She flirts back. Yeah. Flirting with you. Talking about kittens. 

You wish you had nine lives. No.  
You might be already dead.  
—————- 

Between kitty cuddles and making out on the couch, the iced coffee melts and dilutes forgotten for hours. Without a doubt.


	19. at the gym

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because someone said there was a sohara dry spell. This one isn’t explicit at *all*... but it’s a little dirty. Have fun.

19\. at the gym 

you’re all of the cliches right now, as you watch her work out from across the training room floor. 

Yes, your palms are sweaty.  
You almost drop the 15 pounders in each of your hands. 

Set rep. Okay Sonny. You got this. One, two, three, four... 

A bit of her shirt is riding up as she does chin-ups on the high bar. Fuck. 

five, six, seven... 

She drops down and catches her breath in moments, like it nothing. You swallow hard. Your biceps are burning. 

Eight. She’s caught you staring.  
She’s bending down and stretching, turning away slightly as if asking you to keep watching, tendons flexing, her ass is, is- um... 

Nine. She’s walking over. You wonder if any of the rest of the team can see this porno cliche happening. 

Ten. She’s behind you, and telling you to drop the weights. You do. Skipping sideways to avoid them crushing your feet. 

Second rep. Definitely no muscle rest. 

You’re lifting Kelley O Hara by her legs around your waist and shoving her back into a closed locker as she squeals and laughs heartily, at least until your lips find her neck. 

One. 

This can’t actually be happening, can it? 

Two. You hear your friends laughing outside, echoing, a reminder of how close you are to getting caught. 

Three, four,  
her abs look better in person, feel better under your hands as you set her down so you can free your fingers to roam, get lost in her firmness and sweat - 

Five, six, oh, fuck, 

seven, 

your forearm is burning from the effort it takes as you repetitively - well, one can imagine, 

Eight. She’s moaning into your neck and clutching your shoulders with the same hot hands that lifted her own full body weight over thar iron bar what seems like moments before as you watched and, 

Nine. 

Now that you’ve had her once, you need to hear these sounds forever. Need to feel the way her breath stutters as -  
Ten.


	20. interlude iii: Kelley holds a conference

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is crack. Enjoy.

**Sam’s POV**

Kelley comes barging into the room, breezing past me and standing in front of the television that’s got some football game on as soon as I open the door.

Pinoe, my roommate this camp, doesn’t even look up from the book her nose is in. You know, the usual with KO, I guess.

Lindsay and Rose, who are sitting on the floor playing some ridiculous hand-game, do jump a little. I roll my eyes, at them, at Kelley, at everyone and everything, I don’t know. And sit crossed legged on my bed, just as Kelley blurts out.

“Anyone who is not queer. Please leave the room!!”

Pinoe snorts and drops her book, like, this oughtta be good. Lindsay doesn’t flinch. Rose interestingly enough, half stands, looks around at all of us. Sits back down. Shrugs. I’ll be asking questions of her later... wtf!!

I cross my arms and tilt my head, like a challenge, and say, “I’m on the asexual spectrum. Never felt anything for anyone besides my husband. That’s pretty queer.”

“Valid.” Lindsay and Rose say at the same time, causing me to grin.

Kelley looks around at us and scoffs. “Wow. Should’ve known.” Then she brightens, “But ultimately. Great! Four heads are better than one! I need us all to join forces and use the force. By which I mean gaydar. Queerdar? Ugh. Anyway.”

A small pause. As if for suspense.

“I need to figure out if Sonnett is gay.”

Hahahahahaha oh my god. No way. I drop my hands to my sides in disbelief.

We all stare at her.

“Well??! Pros and cons. Is she? Go.”

As if on cue, hysterical laughter fills the room.

“Oh. My GOD.” Wheezes Rose, practically rolling around on the floor. Lindsay is hunched over her giggling, using one very pale leg as support. “Ow Linds, get off!” she cries between fits of giggles.

Pinoe is cackling and dialing her phone at the same time.

I for one am finding out it’s hard to stare someone down with tears of mirth streaming down your face.

Kelley doesn’t look amused. Her glare hardens. “What. You assholes. WHAT? Inquiring minds want to know.”

“Tobs! Hey Tobs!” Pinoe chortles into the phone, falling back to sprawl out on her bed as she talks, “you aren’t with Sonnett right? Ok good. Is Christen there? Amazing. I’m putting you on speaker.”

“Pinoe I swear to fuck if you don-“ Kelley starts, making a move towards the bed and trying to grab the phone, hovering over her in a near straddle, but the pink haired woman rolls away, blurting out in a rush,

“KO CALLED A QUEER CONFERENCE IN ROOM 304 TO ASK IF SONNY IS GAY.”

Tobins laughter can be heard reverberating clearly through the phone.

Then Tobin going “no babe wait,” then silence. Until Christen, ever the merciful one, spills the beans:

“Kelley, sweetie, Emily is gayer than the Ellen Degeneres TIMES cover in 1997. Go kiss her, you idiot. No wonder it took you until senior year to realize I wasn’t straight.”

*click*

This only renews the group laughter. By the time I’ve calmed down enough to breathe, Kelley is storming out the door, with the hint of a blush on her cheeks.

I can’t wait to tell this story at their future - If Kelley is asking, probably very future- wedding.


End file.
